


I Am Yours Till the End of the Line

by WhyIsItAlwaysMonday



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyIsItAlwaysMonday/pseuds/WhyIsItAlwaysMonday
Summary: The one where Steve gets a tattoo and Bucky hates his metal arm“My arm. I hate it.”Steve blinked.“Oh, Buck…”Steve crossed the distance between them, placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He ran his hand down the cold, metal plates, feeling the grooves and notches below his palm.“I don’t hate it.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from my main fic because I HAD to write this idea in my head... I run on coffee, kudos, and comments! I'll be back hopefully later this week with an update to my main fic, next chapter is already half done :)

Steve Rogers inclined his head, hearing a faint knock at his bedroom door. As it creaked open, his eyes roamed over Bucky -  _ Bucky. Here. Safe.  _ \- standing half in and half out of a long sleeve tee-shirt, eyes not meeting his, tousled hair falling in his face like he’d just been in some sort of wrestling match.

“Um, Stevie… I… I might, er, need a hand here.”

Steve’s mouth fell open slightly as he blinked at his friend, forcing his eyes to linger anywhere but the piece of glaringly bare midriff said shirt had exposed.

“Metal arm, long sleeves, no buttons…” Bucky drawled.

“Oh, um, right, c’mere then,” Steve stuttered, blinking. 

Bucky clicked the bedroom door shut, even though they were the only ones on Steve’s personal floor of the Avengers Tower - Sam had elected to spend a few months with family in Harlem, although he still dropped in at least once a week. Bucky turned to face away from Steve and peered over his shoulder at him expectantly.

Steve had done this dozens of times, at least, during the War, he reminded himself; and the roles had been reversed before the serum, on nights when he ended up bloodied and bruised on the streets of Brooklyn. Yes, this was just like all the times before, he told himself as his fingers fiddled with the edges of the loose cotton fabric. But then he remembered touches that lingered, the looks that made his breath hitch, and pressing together for warmth in a cot barely big enough for one of them. He pulled the shirt over Bucky’s head in one swift motion, gently guiding the left sleeve down his metal arm before hastily pushing the wad of fabric into Bucky’s flesh hand. 

Steve turned away, heart pounding. Would things have been different, if they’d have grown up in this time? If the need to find a  _ good, respectable girl to settle down with  _ hadn’t been drilled into him from the moment he could walk? If you could marry and sleep with whomever you wanted without, for the most part, worry of reproach? He let out a long sigh, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Whatever may or may not have existed between them before, he couldn’t dare to hope for it now. He was just happy to have Bucky - his Bucky - back and here and safe. He wouldn’t push for anything else; his best and closest friend for as long as he could remember had been through horrors he didn’t want to imagine. Steve wondered if Bucky remembered those moments at all… that is, if he’d even ever felt the same way.

“I hate it,” Bucky muttered under his breath, breaking Steve out of his daze.

“Mm, what?” Steve coughed, turning.

Steve watched as Bucky traced flesh fingers down his bionic arm, flexing his metal fingers slowly. Turning to face Steve, he dropped his metal arm, hand curling into a fist at his side. 

“My arm. I hate it.”

Steve blinked.

“Oh, Buck…” 

Steve crossed the distance between them, placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He ran his hand down the cold, metal plates, feeling the grooves and notches below his palm.

“I don’t hate it.”

Bucky sighed.

“It’s cold and ugly and I  _ can’t fucking feel anything!” _

Steve felt Bucky start to tremble beneath him. 

“Like right now! You’re running your hand down my arm and I don’t feel fuck all. All I see is you touching this hunk of metal that’s attached to me and supposed to  _ be  _ me and it’s not! It’s fucking not. I didn’t ask for this.” He lowered his voice. “Sometimes I’d rather not have it at all.”

Steve pulled Bucky into him suddenly, careful to embrace him everywhere that  _ wasn’t _ metal, wrapping one arm over his right shoulder and the other around his waist. He felt Bucky bury his face against his chest, felt his warm breath through his thin tee-shirt, felt the wetness of tears forming and clinging to him. Bending his head down to Bucky’s dark, tangled hair, he breathed in  _ pine, rain, outdoors, Bucky _ . His arms clung to warm, bare skin and all he could feel was  _ Bucky, Bucky, Bucky  _ everywhere.

“It’s okay, Bucky. You can cry.” He squeezed the smaller man tighter against him. “I’m so,  _ so _ sorry. I’m so sorry for everything they did to you and I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner,” he sobbed. 

Tears rolled down his face now too and Steve let them come. Bucky pulled away slightly and met his eyes.

“Steve. Don’t be sorry,” he said solemnly. “You didn’t just find me, you brought me back. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never be  _ me  _ again. I can’t thank you enough for that. I just… it reminds me of who I was, what I’ve done. I just wanna be plain ol’ Bucky again. I… I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.” 

Eyes darting away, he ducked his head and took a step back. Steve shivered at the sudden loss of  _ Bucky everywhere _ . He caught Bucky’s chin with his hand as he tried to turn away.

“Buck, look at me.” 

After a breath, blue eyes met his own.

“You  _ won’t  _ ever be the same. No one expects you too. We’ve all been through shit and it changes us and that’s  _ okay.  _ Hell, I’m not the same guy that led the Howling Commandos, and I  _ sure _ as hell ain’t the same kid from back in Brooklyn. As long as your  _ head  _ is your own, you’re still Bucky, and a metal arm doesn’t change that. But I don’t expect you to be exactly the same as you were before all this, and you shouldn’t either.”

Contemplative eyes searched Steve’s face and his tear-moistened fingers trembled as he still held Bucky’s chin. 

“I remember you used to draw.”

Steve blinked down at him. “You…”

“Mostly still lifes. You were really good. Sometimes I’d get you to draw me.”

Steve’s mouth went dry. He swallowed and almost choked as he suddenly gained the good sense to return his hand to his side. Everything Bucky remembered on his own became so suddenly precious and he refused to break this moment.

“I haven’t seen you draw here.”

Steve’s tongue felt like sandpaper. “I… I haven’t. In a long time,” he forced out.

Bucky tipped his head to the side, eyes slightly narrowed. Steve waited for the “why?” and panicked as he realized he didn’t know how to answer; wasn’t sure if he knew himself.

“Draw me,” Bucky said instead.

“Hmn?” Steve responded, caught off guard.

“Draw me. With my new arm.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he was sure his eyebrows hit the ceiling. 

“I want to see what it looks like to you,” Bucky added sheepishly.

“Are… are you sure? You said you didn’t like looking at it and I haven’t drawn in a long…”

“I want you to,” Bucky said plainly. “Would you?”

A small smile crept onto Steve’s face. “Of course I would, Buck… um, do you want another shirt?”

“Nah,” he replied with a stretch. “Like I said, I want to see what it looks like when you draw it. Can’t right go coverin’ it up now, can we?” 

Steve was sure he imagined the wicked smile that flashed across Bucky’s face as Steve scavenged through his desk for a suitably blank sheet of paper.

\---

“It… that don’t look half bad,” Bucky said quietly as he traced his fingers across the page. 

He and Steve perched on the edge of Steve’s bed, finished drawing in hand.

“See? I told you,” Steve laughed softly, nudging Bucky with his elbow.

“I seem to remember I always look better when you draw me though.”

Steve’s breath caught as a familiar twinge crept across his chest. “Well, anyway, weren’t you going to bed before all this?” he responded, pushing up from the bed. “Keep the drawing.”

“I… yeah, I’ll… I was going to bed. Right.” Bucky stood and brushed nonexistent lint off his jeans, chewing his lower lip. 

“Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“What is it?”

“Err…” Bucky scraped one foot across the floor in front of him and stared at it pointedly. “I rather don’t like being alone, Stevie.” Sighing, he closed his eyes, expression resigned. “I still get nightmares and I wake up alone and… You remember when we shared a cot, for warmth?” 

Steve nodded.

“I, err, I wasn’t always cold, I don’t think.” Bucky’s flesh fingers tapped against his thigh rapidly. “I remember I had nightmares then, too, just different ones. But I didn’t have them when I was with you, or if I did it wasn’t so bad when I woke up.” 

“Oh, Buck, I didn’t know,” Steve whispered, crossing the distance he had put between them, pushing his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tucking it gingerly behind his ears. “You can stay with me,” he sighed, “you can stay with me whenever you want.”

Bucky tucked his head against Steve’s chest and beamed up at him.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

Before long they were settled in, Bucky lying on his flesh arm, head tucked neatly against Steve’s chest.

“A’missed this” Bucky mumbled sleepily.

Steve bit back the “me too,” on his tongue, settling for breathing in the scent of pine and Bucky and  _ home _ that was nestled just under his chin.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Buck, c’mere, I wanna show you something,” Steve called from their shared living room.

Bucky ambled over from the kitchenette - well, a normal kitchen by civilian standards, but compared to the  _ kitchen _ in the Avengers’ common room, Steve supposed Stark’s calling it a kitchenette made sense - two coffees in hand.

“Is that one for me? You’re the best,” Steve hailed, taking a swig from the proffered mug.

Unceremoniously, Bucky flopped onto the couch length-wise, crossing his feet at the ankle. He sipped his coffee before asking, “So what was it ya wanted to show me?” 

Steve felt his neck heat and the flush creep onto his face, but he gently placed his coffee on the expansive coffee table and steeled himself with a sharp intake of breath. Swallowing once, he shoved his left sleeve up high onto his shoulder and turned so that Bucky could see it.

Bucky’s breath caught and he stilled completely, staring, slack-jawed. Emblazoned on Steve’s arm was a red five-pointed star surrounded by dark shading that resembled his own metal. It encompassed Steve’s whole shoulder and half his bicep. Steve’s fingers shook as Bucky stared at him for long moments; he could feel his pulse in his throat and ears. Frantically, Bucky set down his mug with a heavy clang and rushed to Steve’s side, hand smoothing up and down the design. 

His fingers traced the star as he murmured breathily, “Why?” 

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hate it, didn’t want you to feel alone, so now I have one too. I know it’s not the same but…”

“I love it,” Bucky croaked, voice thick.

Steve’s pulse doubled and he closed his eyes, willing himself not to make it weird.

Then wet lips were pressed against his and Bucky’s hands were in his hair and around his waist and  _ his hands were goddamned everywhere _ and Steve moaned as he instinctively leaned into the kiss.

“I don’t remember everything about my life,” Bucky said breathlessly, breaking the kiss, “but I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love you. It’s always you, everywhere, all over my memories. Only you.” He pulled Steve in for another quick kiss, hand snacking behind his neck. “Do you want me too, Stevie?” he asked, eyes pleading.

“Oh, God, Bucky, only for forever,” Steve laughed, embracing him.

Everything was lips and skin and breath and warmth and want and suddenly Steve felt himself being pressed into the couch. He opened his eyes and it was just  _ his Bucky  _ framed by dark strands of hair, metal hand pushing him into the couch, flesh fingers cording through his hair. Bucky pressed a line of kisses down Steve’s tattooed arm.

“You’re mine,” he growled possessively. 

“Mnhm,” Steve replied, cupping Bucky’s face and bringing him back for another kiss, possessively pushing his tongue between Bucky’s parted lips. He tasted like coffee and like everything Steve had ever wanted.

“I can’t… everything…. yet… But I want…” Bucky broke off suddenly, panting.

Steve’s eyes softened. “We have as long as we need for everything, Buck. You lead.” Steve leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “You’re right; I am yours. Till the end of the line.”

\---

“I want one,” Bucky said suddenly one day as he and Steve strolled Central Park hand-in-hand.

“One what?” Steve asked, gaze warm beneath his ball cap. 

“A tattoo. Like yours.”

“You want matching red stars? And here you had me thinking you hated that thing,” Steve laughed.

“No, stupid,” Bucky groaned, shoving Steve off the walking path. “I want one of your shield.”

Steve stopped in his tracks. “Seriously?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “God, you really do take all the stupid with you, don’t you? Yes seriously. Right here,” he said, tapping his right shoulder. He grabbed Steve’s arm with both leather-gloved and flesh hands and leaned in close to his ear. “It’s not fair you’ve marked yourself as mine and I’m not walking around with something that says I’m yours. I want to be,” he whispered breathily, then gave a playful nip that made Steve gasp.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Steve grinned. “There’s a quality shop not far from here and they still take walk-ins.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the pavement, hat shielding his face. Steve stooped down and noticed him chewing his lower lip.

“What is it, Buck? Tell me.”

“I’m…” Bucky stammered. “Steve, I’m worried I’ll freak out. Needles. Like I know it’s not the same as the injections, but I’m worried my body will see them and… Will you… will you hold my hand and… and make sure I’m okay and I don’t go crazy and hurt somebody? I really, really wanna do this.” 

Steve pulled Bucky into a close hug, kissing the top of his head, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally landed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Bucky, I would hold your hand till the end of time if you asked me. Yes, of course I’ll go with you and make sure you’re okay.”

“Till the end of the line?”

“Till the end of the line.”


End file.
